The luscious fig—its sweet flesh accented by crunchy seeds and enveloped by a deep purple skin—will soon reach perfection in Provence, arousing passions that border on obsession in folks who live in this part of the world. A cause for sleuthing, celebration, and, in Solliès-Pont, a lingerie fashion show that’s part of a three-day festival devoted to a particular variety of fig. I am a lover of figs—plain; wrapped in jambon de Parme; topped with chêvre or with Fourme d’Ambert cheese and a dollop of honey; arranged in tarts; transformed into jams and chutneys; or sautéed in butter and brown sugar and slathered atop vanilla ice cream—so I understand the excitement and even feel some pressure myself to eat them in their various delectable forms—morning, noon, and night—during the short season they are available. Bruschetta of chêvre and figs topped with aged balsamic vinegar Already this season, I’ve eaten lots of naked figs, made two fig tarts, served lots of figgy hors d’oeuvres, and, over the weekend in Le Verdure in New York’s Eataly, enjoyed a bruschetta of chêvre and figs topped with aged balsamic vinegar. Figs for sale at the market in Cucuron Figs are fragile and highly perishable, [...]